


The Watcher

by sevendeadlyfun



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, Community: tamingthemuse, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-29
Updated: 2010-08-29
Packaged: 2017-10-11 07:48:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/110089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevendeadlyfun/pseuds/sevendeadlyfun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>He longed to be free. Every night, the building would go quiet and dim and he was left behind, a wisp of vapor haunting an empty building.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Watcher

  
  
  
  
  


**Entry tags:**

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[kink bingo](http://sevendeadlyfun.livejournal.com/tag/kink%20bingo), [spike-centric](http://sevendeadlyfun.livejournal.com/tag/spike-centric)  
  
  
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Pairing: Spike/Various (sort of)

Rating: NC-17

Summary: _He longed to be free. Every night, the building would go quiet and dim and he was left behind, a wisp of vapor haunting an empty building._

A/N: Written for [](http://community.livejournal.com/kink_bingo/profile)[**kink_bingo**](http://community.livejournal.com/kink_bingo/) prompt _sensory deprivation (touch)_ and [](http://community.livejournal.com/tamingthemuse/profile)[**tamingthemuse**](http://community.livejournal.com/tamingthemuse/) prompt #98-_cubic_.

  


  
It's agony. He thought he understood the nature of pain. Living, dying, chipped, soulled, and sacrificed; none of that even compared to being insubstantial. Part of the world yet completely unable to affect it, all Spike could do was watch.

He watched all of them: lovely Fred puttering around her lab; Angel sitting, dour-faced, at his desk. He spent an hour on Percy's hands once, admiring the tension of strong muscles pulled taut under tanned flesh. He roamed over the vastness of Wolfram and Hart building, learning every cubic centimeter of his personal prison. Everywhere he looked, he saw people touching each other. Connecting in a real, physical way now denied to him.

Spike hated being denied. Hated to be in the world and not part of it. Wondered if this was his Hell, his penance for many lifetimes worth of evil.

If so, he was bloody impressed with the cleverness of it. But he kept watching. And wanting.

Angel's hand, slick with spit, glided over his fat cock. Spike remembered that, remembered running his own fingers over the impressive girth and satiny skin. Remembered his mouth stretched around it, saliva running down his chin as he struggled take the whole thing down his throat. He wanted to take it now, to kneel down in front of his Sire and suck that sweet prick until Angel screamed his name.

Instead, he stood there as Angel came, panting and writhing as the jizz pumped out over his own hand. He stood there and stared, envy roiling in his gut. He just wanted the to touch someone. Anyone.

Fred, perhaps, lovely little bit that she was. Her slender body, outlined in the mists of the shower, drew him like moth to a flame. Only he'd never be burned and oh, how he wanted to burn for her.

She ran her hands up over her breasts, pert mouthfuls that he ached to taste. Her fingers caressed the stiff peaks of her nipples, turning the candy pink buds a blushing red. Other busy fingers weaved their way through wet curls, teasing her swollen nub. He listened to her cries, and tried to imagine the taste of her sweet cunt exploding on his tongue, the weight of her breasts in his hands. Imaginings that only drove him mad with frustration.

He longed to be free. Every night, the building would go quiet and dim and he was left behind, a wisp of vapor haunting an empty building. Even after he'd learned to move things, to push them where he wanted them, he wasn't free. He still couldn't _feel_ them.

Now here he is, a real boy again. Flesh and bone, solid, and real. But he doesn't quite feel real.

He tried, in the beginning, to touch everything. Hell, he'd even taken Harmony for a ride in those first few crazy minutes when the world rushed back into being. But he couldn't quite make it work properly.

Even his own hands felt wrong somehow; abrasive, on skin suddenly exquisitely sensitive to touch. The only time he could bear the agony was in the heat of the fight. The pain of bruises and cuts blazed, melting away the ice-cold pain of softer, gentler touches.

He smiled, eyes fixed on Angel. They were both bloodied wrecks, and Spike luxuriated at having rough, fierce hands pummeling his flesh back into submission. The blood trickled down his cheek, drawing a soft sigh from his lips. As long as he had Angel about to give him what he needed, the rest would sort itself out eventually.  


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**The Watcher**   
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End file.
